


miss scarlet with the candlestick

by Fatale (femme)



Series: happy malec ficlets [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, dudes being oblivious, good god the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: Perhaps foolishly, he’s always assumed that when he moved in with someone, he’d at least notice.





	miss scarlet with the candlestick

  
“You should go to bed,” Izzy says, running a hand across his shoulders, startling Alec from a boring slosh of thoughts about balance sheets and budget reports. He hadn’t heard her come in, but who would with a lovely stack of tentative missions to sign off on? Certainly - he pulls one off the top, reads it sideways - a stakeout of the local Subway sandwich shop for suspicious vampire activity can wait until morning. Maybe they just like the $5 footlongs, you overly suspicious assholes.

Command was always a track he assumed he’d follow, had taken for granted as his due, but Alec had not known it would involve mediating quite so many pointless squabbles. It's not unlike his life before, playing a never-ending game of apology telephone between Izzy and Jace and the rest of the world.

Alec sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe I will.” He pictures his bed - warm and inviting, ridiculously high thread count, funny little decorative pillows that serve no discernable purpose.

“Go home, big brother. Give my regards to Magnus.”

Wait, what? Alec’s train of thought skids to an abrupt halt. Alec stands and stretches, back popping. Something about the statement bothers him. His bed, his home, Magnus.

 _Oh shit_ , Alec thinks. Does he live with Magnus?

In his room, everything is covered with a thick layer of dust; the room smells musty, with a faint undertone of feet. In his closet, hang four sad shirts and the dinner jacket Izzy complains makes him look boxy. All of his backup steles have migrated to Magnus’ and there is no denying that it has been a very long time since he’s slept here.

Alec sits on the bed and says, “Huh.”

 

\---

 

Standing outside Magnus’ door, Alec tries to remember the last 10 times, 100 times he has been in this very spot. Did he knock? Did he just barge in like he lived there? He can't remember and that in and of itself should be telling, but Alec hasn’t ever had a real relationship before and fuck it all, he just doesn’t know. Perhaps foolishly, he’s always assumed that when he moved in with someone, he’d at least _notice_.

He hesitantly knocks on the door twice.

After a few moments, Magnus opens the door, giving Alec a strange look. “Uh, come in?” Magnus says like Alec’s lost his damn mind, which doesn’t seem like an unfair assessment.

It’s dark outside and the drapes are pulled, the apartment a warm cocoon of silk, softly backlit by lamps.

Alec surveys the place warily. On the bookcase, he notes his own books slotted between Magnus’ rich leather-bound hardcovers. Books of poetry, fiction, and humiliatingly, the Twilight series, which Izzy gave him with a wink, and Alec read in five days with mounting horror, desperately chasing a dogmatic need to know if they ever got better (answer: they did not).

By nature, Alec’s incredibly observant. He’s also aware that he’s a champ at self-delusion when it suits him, but even Alec has to believe he’d remember walking down W 114th carting fifty pounds of books.

“Magnus?” Alec asks, “How did all my books get here?”

Magnus fiddles with his ear cuff, working it up and down as he shifts from foot to foot uneasily. “I may or may not have brought them here,” he says, gaze sliding away from Alec.

Alec is mystified by people’s behavior more often than he’d like to admit, but he makes up for it by being really weird and super clear in a manner unflatteringly described by some as “aggressive” and “unpleasant.”

His shoes are over by the door, identical pairs of scuffed boots lined up against the wall. Nearly six months ago, his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner showed up in the shower one morning, despite Magnus’ bitching, but Alec can’t see why anyone would need more than one product for their hair no matter how hard he tries.

It’s like playing a game of Clue with half of the cards missing; it’s enough to draw a conclusion, but not enough to prove it. Alec doesn’t want to embarrass himself, but with the same morbid curiosity that made him finish the Twilight series, he needs to _know_.

“Do I live here?” Alec blurts out, mentally screaming at his own inelegance.

“You don’t _not_ live here,” Magnus says evasively. “I may have brought your books over one by one.”

Something unlocks in Alec’s chest, the last puzzle piece slots into place, giving him the entire picture for the first time. He’s oddly touched by the idea of Magnus slowly moving him in, bringing his stuff over, encouraging him to spread out. It’s definitely kind of strange, but still, _touched_. Alec has always been large, tough; no one has ever bothered to be so careful with him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve lived with another person. I may not be very good at it,” Magnus confesses.

Neither are the best at communication, but Magnus is pretty good at speaking Alec, so he figures the rest will come. They’re getting somewhere, stumbling clumsily like children on shaky legs towards a half-assed state of grace.

“I’d love to live with you, Magnus,” Alec says and is startled to see the naked relief in Magnus’ face. Magnus, who makes Alec feel like an uncultured bumpkin and like a priceless treasure in dizzying and terrifying turns, should never be unsure of himself.

“And I’d love for you to live with me,” Magnus says.

Alec pulls Magnus close, lets his head drop down low, Magnus’ breath a warm heat against his cheek. “But it doesn’t matter where we go, really. You’re my home,” he tells him.

“Alexander,” Magnus says wonderingly.

Magnus lets his glamour drop. His eyes catch and reflect the lamplight, a soft golden glow, beckoning Alec back home again and again.

 

 

 

 


End file.
